


By Hook or By Crook

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and Thranduil discover there is more to strategy than meets the eye. Fourth story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Hook or By Crook

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> This is a slight detour from the main storyline. I felt Elrond and Thranduil’s relationships with their respective wives needed some attention. Not too much of a plot. Just wanted something short and sweet and a little spicy.

Imladris, _Cermië_ T.A. 787  
Elrond glanced up then smiled as he caught Elladan yawning yet again. Flanking the older twin at the other end of the study stable, Elrohir and Legolas did not look much more awake. The Lord of Rivendell sympathized with them though he could not let them go just yet. 

Legolas was a-visiting once more. Only, this time, his parents had come along. A recent and alarming surge in the orkish population of the Misty Mountains had convinced Thranduil that it was high time he came to the hidden vale to discuss matters of import with Elrond. In particular, the defense of their respective realms relative to the great mountain range that lay between them and the irksome denizens that constantly spawned in its deeps to plague them now and then. Thus, he’d accompanied Legolas on this latest trip to Rivendell and brought his wife, Ithilwen, for good measure.

The latter move had delighted Celebrían for the two Elf-ladies had become very close friends. United as much by their common interests as by their shared commiserations over their sons’ infamous exploits, they oftentimes decried the distance between their lands that prohibited more frequent visits with each other. With their husbands closeted more oft than not either with Glorfindel and Thranduil’s troop captain or with Erestor and Rivendell’s other counsellors, discussing everything from patrol schedules and secure trade routes to strategy and logistics, they’d turned to each other for company.

The two lords were at it again this fine summer morn much to their sons’ dismay. For they had been required to attend the meeting as much for their continued training as warriors and future leaders as for the fact that they would in most likelihood help carry out what was being discussed. 

Neither the twins nor Legolas shirked duty when it was demanded of them and they were able students in all things military. But they were also still young, not yet past their first millennium, and therefore eager to enjoy the delights of the season while it lasted. Endless sessions over a period of several days dealing with naught but one subject was proving all too vexing for the ebullient trio and even more tedious as evidenced by Elladan’s yawn.

Salvation came in the form of Thranduil’s captain, the lovely but stern warrior maid, Tathariel. She came to the study to seek her king’s counsel on some internal Greenwood matter that necessitated Thranduil’s personal attention. With the Elvenking’s exit from the study, Elrond finally took pity on his sons and their friend. What use was it to keep them when they would likely disgrace themselves by falling into slumber by the time Thranduil returned.

“You may go,” he informed them abruptly. “Just stay out of trouble,” he added at their relieved reactions.

They hurried out of the chamber before he could change his mind. 

“Ai, I was about to fall asleep!” Elladan exclaimed.

“You were not alone,” Elrohir assured him.

“But what shall we do now?” Legolas inquired. "'Tis a waste of a glorious day to stay indoors.”

“I know what I would like,” Elrohir announced. “A swim in the Bruinen.”

Legolas grinned. “An excellent idea, _meldiren_.”—my friend.

They were about to head for the main porch when Elladan pulled up short. “Wait!” he said. “Let us bring provisions with us! We can have a picnic after our swim.”

Elrohir nodded. “Bread, cheese and fruit, I suppose?” he suggested.

“And drink,” Elladan added. “Let us go and see what the wine cellar may yield.”

Meanwhile, Elrond awaited Thranduil’s return a little restively. He wondered if the king would take much longer. It was then that he noticed that the carafe of wine upon the small serving table by the window was nearly empty. Mayhap I should replenish it, he thought. It will take but a moment to get a new bottle. 

Leaving the study, he made his way to the corridor leading to the wine cellar. As he walked down it, he espied Erestor at the far end, approaching him. He had the oddest expression on his face. In his hand he carried an object of indiscernible identity. Elrond frowned wonderingly.

When the steward neared him, he asked, “What is that you have in your hand, Erestor?”

“A casualty of war, you might say,” the other Elf dryly replied. "'Tis the inner handle to the wine cellar door.” 

“A casualty?” Elrond’s eyebrows rose in puzzlement at his advisor’s peculiar choice of words.

“The _pin nith_ have gone to the Bruinen for a picnic,” Erestor explained. “They took wine and ale with them. Do not ask me how they managed to break this off. I am still trying to make sense of their explanation.” 

Elrond sighed. It was a wonder Imladris had not yet come crumbling down around them. 

“Are you going to the cellar?” Erestor asked him.

“Aye.”

“Take care that you do not close the door for you will not be able to open it again from the inside.”

“Thank you for the warning. But do get Lindir to repair it.”

“Aye, ‘tis my intention.”

The two parted ways and Elrond proceeded to the cellar. He smiled ruefully when he saw the damaged door, which Erestor had left open. The heavy door swung inwards and, with its inner handle now gone, could effectively trap any careless enough to close it from inside. Ai, young Elves, he mused with a touch of exasperated humor. You never knew what they were capable of until they did it.

The wine cellar of the Last Homely House was dark and cool but airy. Torches in sconces on the walls illuminated the chamber. Here was the finest and most varied selection of wines and ales this side of the Misty Mountains. Elrond purposely made his way to a shelf at the far end of the cellar. It housed the shipment of fine dry whites that had just arrived from the south as well as the latest vintage of Imladrin miruvor. 

He was busy trying to choose which bottle to bring back with him when he heard a low, sweet voice call his name. 

“Elrond, _meleth_? Are you in here?” 

The Lord of Rivendell had to smile when he identified the owner of that voice. It never failed to brighten his day or lighten his spirits. 

“Over here, Celebrían _nîn_ ,” he called. 

He peered around the shelf in time to see her enter the cellar. As she did so, she instinctively pulled at the door to close it behind her. The panel began to swing shut, its own weight increasing its momentum.

Elrond gasped. He hurried forward, yelling, “Do not close the—!”

The door slammed shut behind his wife. Elrond groaned. Celebrían stared at him in surprise.

“What is wrong?” she inquired.

Elrond approached and felt the seam between door and jamb. It was useless. There was not one uneven spot on which to get a grip with his fingers. There are times when elven perfection can be taken a little too far, the loremaster thought a little irritably.

“This is,” he muttered showing her the door handle or rather the lack of it. With a resigned sigh, he said, "'Tis damaged. I fear we are trapped here, dearest.”

Celebrían’s eyes widened. “Oh,” she murmured. “How—?”

“The _pin nith_.”—young ones.

His wife stared at him then nodded in comprehension. There was no need for further explanations.

oOoOoOo

Thranduil waited impatiently, wondering where Elrond was and what was taking him so long. He frowned. _Surely he did not grow tired of waiting and leave me just like that._

The door to the study opened and he swung around to question his host about his tardiness. But the dark-haired figure that entered the chamber was not Elrond Peredhel.

“Ithilwen!” The Elvenking was a little surprised to see his beauteous wife. “I thought you were with Celebrían.”

“I was,” Ithilwen smiled. “But she had to see to something and I decide to check on you.” She looked around the study curiously. “Where is Elrond?” 

“I have no idea,” Thranduil admitted. “I had a word with Tathariel and when I returned he was gone.” He frowned testily. “Indeed, he has been gone far longer than would be considered polite. I wonder if something has gone amiss elsewhere and called him away in turn.”

“Mayhap you are right, _hervenn_ ”—husband—Ithilwen cooed. She had neared him and now ran a graceful hand over his chest down to his stomach. Without warning, Thranduil felt his body heat up. He stared at his wife. She smiled back at him, her hand continuing its leisurely meandering about his torso.

“What are you up to?’ he asked suspiciously. 

“Up to?” The grey eyes looked ever so innocent yet Thranduil could have sworn he saw a twinkle in their depths. “Is there something wrong with a wife pampering her dear lord and husband?”

As she spoke her hand moved lower and brushed his groin. The King gasped. He grabbed her wrist none-too-gently. “That is _not_ pampering!” he hissed as he felt that part of his body come to life.

“Then what is it?” she smiled sweetly.

oOoOoOo

Elrond groaned as Celebrían shifted deliciously above him. How they had ended up on the cellar floor, stitchless, with his wife riding him for dear life was something of a mystery to him. It seemed like only minutes ago that they were debating how best to get the attention of any Elf who might pass the cellar. The next thing he knew, they were kissing with fearsome abandon, their hands hurriedly tugging, unlacing and near tearing at each other’s clothing.

Somehow, he’d managed to retain enough lucidity to throw his robe down upon the floor before bearing his wife down atop it. After that lucidity had vanished and he’d only had thought, if one could call it thought, for the flawless beauty that was offered up for his pleasure. 

Their first coupling was fast and explosive, his completion nearly winding him as he found release within his silver lady’s quivering body. Their second joining was slower but no less pleasurable. Celebrían had neatly turned the tables on him and now dictated the pace. Not that he was complaining. She had a most enthralling way of making him want her to take control.

The sight of his beloved writhing shamelessly and moaning helplessly as she succumbed to the throes of ecstasy was more than enough to undo him and he followed her into the sensual storm of their shared culmination. He caught her to him when she collapsed upon his chest. For several minutes, they lay quietly, waiting for their breaths to deepen once more. 

“ _Mîren_ ”—my treasure—Elrond murmured huskily at length. “Have I told you how exquisite you are?”

Celebrían laughed languidly. “Every day. But do not ever stop. I rather enjoy such praise from you.”

He chuckled. “How can I stop when you grow ever more beautiful each day?”

She lifted her now tousled head. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure and she brushed her soft mouth against his.

“Keep talking like that and we may well end up staying here all morning,” she teased.

A hand travelled down her graceful back and landed on her delectable bottom. He pressed down and she gasped when she felt the evidence of yet another arousal surge up against her.

“Again, _meleth_?”—love—she whispered almost reverently. “Are you not... weary?”

Elrond growled. “Not in the least.”

oOoOoOo

Thranduil did not know what needed his attention more. His wife who lay beneath him on Elrond’s no longer neat table or the study door that might open any moment with the arrival of one Elf or another. Why did he not take the time to bolt the confounded door, he wondered woozily. Come to think of it, how did they end up in so compromising a situation that necessitated the door’s bolting in the first place?

Not that he could resist Ithilwen when she took things into her own hands. In this case, literally into her own hands. She’d coaxed him into the most heady kiss while all the while her nimble fingers had unlaced his breeches without his knowing. He’d been startled when she freed his now awakened length and started to stroke him. That had quite undone him. He was unable to protest, much less stop her caresses. And when she prettily slid down his tall frame to her knees and put her mouth to most effective use, he’d unraveled completely. But then, as she oft teased him, she may have been a maid when they first mated but her inquisitive mind had been far from chaste where he was concerned.

A few minutes later, he was panting erratically, having been drained quite efficiently by his lovely queen. He’d been incapable of doing anything save to stare at her in amazement. She’d then risen to her feet, looking at him with that particular expression that blatantly told him how magnificent he was. Desire and arousal came surging back in full.

His judgment clouded by lust, he’d caught her to him in a ravaging kiss. Without looking, he’d swept almost everything upon Elrond’s desk off it and onto the floor and all but thrown Ithilwen onto the table, barely shoving her skirts up around her waist before burying himself within her. Now they were writhing against each other, hurrying towards completion. 

Release came with tumultuous force and Thranduil swiftly sealed his mouth to his wife’s to swallow her gasping cries and stifle his own feral groan of pleasure.

oOoOoOo

Elrond was just hitching up his breeches when a loud knock on the door nearly made him jump.

“My lord?” came Lindir’s voice. “May I come in?”

“Nay, wait!” Elrond gasped. “We—”

“In a minute!” Celebrían called out calmly. 

Her husband regarded her with surprise. She remained quite serene as they continued to dress.

“How can you be so composed when Lindir could have walked in on us?” he finally inquired.

“Oh, he would not have come in without asking first,” she replied. “I told him to give us an hour at the very least.”

Elrond stared at her, pausing in the middle of lacing his shirt. “ _You—told—him?_ ” he repeated.

“And I dare say Ithilwen instructed everyone to stay away from your study.”

Elrond was too astounded to form a coherent response. Celebrían smiled, mischief dancing in her crystalline eyes.

“We came upon Erestor while he was telling Lindir about the door,“ she explained somewhat smugly. “You and Thranduil have neglected us frightfully these past many days. We thought this would be a most opportune moment to remind you of your husbandly duties.” She patted her hair into place and called out to Lindir once more. “You may come in now, Lindir!”

The housemaster pushed open the door. To Elrond’s disconcertment, he kept his eyes slightly averted as he entered as if he was prepared not to see what he was supposed not to see. Celebrían giggled.

“Thank you for waiting, Lindir,” she sweetly said as she passed the minstrel.

Elrond followed her, his face still a picture of astonishment. He barely registered Lindir’s amused grin.

oOoOoOo

The first thing he noticed when they entered the study was that Thranduil had returned and that he was not alone. The king was seated on the couch with his wife. He rose to make way for Celebrían.

“You certainly took your time, Peredhel,” Thranduil remarked. He glanced curiously at Celebrían then eyed the slightly rumpled appearance of his host. “For good reason, I imagine,” he added with a smirk.

Elrond could not help reddening a bit. “I only wished to replenish the wine,” he defensively explained. “But the cellar door was damaged and we were locked in.”

“ _We?_ ” Thranduil raised a golden eyebrow. Glancing at Celebrían, his fine mouth broke into a wolfish grin.

Elrond’s blush deepened. He was at a loss for words until he noticed his desk was no longer arranged the way he’d left it. In fact, he mused as he took a good, long look at Thranduil, the Elvenking was no longer arranged as he’d been either. His hair was somewhat tousled, the braids rather hastily redone and his shirt collar was just this side of askew. And was he imagining things or was the bodice of Ithilwen’s gown a tad too loosely laced? He grinned wickedly in turn making Thranduil uneasy.

“I am pleased you managed to occupy yourself while I was gone,” Elrond said silkily. “I trust my desk was comfortable enough?” 

It was Thranduil’s turn to flush. A duet of giggles accompanied his discomfiture.

“Oh, it did well enough, Elrond,” Ithilwen said impishly. “Though I apologize if we disturbed anything overmuch.”

Thranduil forgot his kingly dignity and goggled at her. Then he noted Celebrían’s knowing demeanor and mischievous smile. He looked back at Elrond with dawning comprehension.

“Why do I get the feeling that we have just been royally duped?” he asked with some asperity.

“Because we were!” Elrond retorted.

The two turned to glower at their now laughing wives. Their glares had no effect whatsoever on the ladies. Thranduil shook his head in grudging admiration.

“Mayhap we should invite them to help us in our planning,” he told Elrond with some humor. “They have a remarkable gift for strategy.”

“Aye, they do,” Elrond agreed. “What say we send them with Glorfindel on his next patrol? That should take care of the Orcs for the next, oh, one hundred years or so.”

******************************************  
Glossary:  
Cermië - Quenya for July  
Celebrían nîn – my Celebrían  
Peredhel (sing.) – Half-elven/Half-elf

_End of Part IV_

**Author's Note:**

> _Part V: Gwador: Sorrow’s First Dawning - Legolas faces the first great tragedy in his life and is unable to cope with its aftermath._


End file.
